Chapter 2

2

GRAYSON

I 'd always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, but tonight, it wasn't a damsel I was saving. It was some burnt taco meat.

My plan had been to help her air the place out and head back to my cabin. There, I'd dive into the pizza I'd picked up on the way home from my long day working to restore a tornado-damaged house. We'd made most of the houses habitable after the destruction caused by this summer's tornado, so we were now focusing on little repair jobs like siding that had holes in it and windows that needed new weatherstripping.

But it had been clear from the taco shells and seasoning packet on the counter that Simone, as she'd introduced herself, had been preparing dinner when the fire broke out. And her dinner was now a heaping scrap of blackened nastiness. So I headed over to my house and grabbed the pizza while she warmed up the oven.

And now we sat on her couch, each with a slice of pizza on a paper plate. She had a glass of wine that she'd barely touched, and I'd already gulped down half a beer.

"I'm a technical writer," she said in answer to my question about what she did for a living. "I can work from anywhere, and my parents own this cabin. I'm renting it from them while I save up to buy something."

I munched my pizza and tried not to show just how impressed I was. Technical writing sounded like something that required a high level of intelligence. She was drop-dead gorgeous and smart. I'd never been able to resist that combination.

But this was more than sexual attraction. I'd been thinking about getting her naked since she opened that door, for sure. But I was also drawn to her. I'd never been drawn to anyone in my life. And it was kicking my commitment phobia in the ass.

"What about you?" she asked. "When you're not keeping cabins from burning down, that is."

"You're the one who kept the cabin from burning down."

"I beg to differ. If it weren't for me, the cabin wouldn't have filled with smoke in the first place." She shifted on the couch, repositioning her plate on her lap. "But the fire chief had that safety meeting a few months ago at city hall. He mentioned flour to put out grease fires."

"Tyler's a good guy. That's why I moved here. A few of us served with him in the military. When we heard he'd taken over the fire department here, we came to help him out."

"You're a firefighter?" she asked.

"Volunteer." I shrugged. "Doesn't really pay the bills. I make my money on construction."

That wasn't really how I saw myself, though. I'd been a Navy SEAL for almost a decade. It was so wrapped up in my identity, when I decided to return to civilian life, I'd had a tough time adjusting. I was mildly qualified for a lot of things but deeply qualified for absolutely nothing. Especially in a town like this one where jobs were few and far between.

"Are you helping with the rebuilding at Sugarplum Farms?" she asked.

I nodded. "Plenty of work. And the more we do, the less reason there is for scammers to come to town and take advantage of people."

She sighed. "It sucks that people do that. I wasn't here when the tornado hit. I only graduated college in May."

May. So that could put her as young as twenty-two. She seemed older, though. Maybe it was her fierce intelligence. There was just a sharpness about her, along with a maturity that most women her age didn't seem to have.

"I wasn't here for it either," I said. "And I'm glad to be able to help out where I can. But this town is something else. I can't imagine leaving it, even after all the work dries up. Want another piece?"

I'd noticed Simone's plate was empty. She'd just polished off the last of her first slice. I leaned forward and opened the box, reaching out for her plate. She eyed the box, and for a second I thought she might deny herself, but then she took a deep breath and smiled.

"You know what? I deserve it after the day I've just had."

"You deserve it every day," I said.

Did that come across as flirtatious? Maybe. I didn't even know what it meant. Just that a woman like her should be spoiled, pampered, treated like a queen. If she were my woman?—

When she was my woman.

That thought flashed through my mind, drowning out everything else. I froze, hand on the slice I was about to pull out for her, and I had to force myself to start moving again. Something had gone haywire in my brain, and I didn't know what to do about it.

"Rough day, huh?" I asked when she didn't respond to my comment. "Do you mean with the near-fire?"

Simone had her slice, and now I grabbed mine before shutting the box. I had to drink from my beer just to calm my racing mind, then I settled back on the couch and watched her as she finished chewing and swallowing before answering.

"My boss's boss is being a jerk," she said. "He's had me rewrite this one knowledgebase article seven times, and every time, we have to get on a call while he tells me everything he didn't like about it."

I winced. "That has to suck, being criticized like that."

Something about writing seemed deeply personal. If someone criticized the way I hung a sheet of drywall or painted a baseboard, I'd be annoyed, but it wouldn't feel personal.

"The tough part is he doesn't say what he wants," she said. "He just says he doesn't like it, and it needs to be redone, so I have to guess, and I guess wrong. Then we start over."

She took a deep breath and reached for her wineglass. This time, the sip was a little more generous. This guy was literally driving her to drink.

"I know I'm lucky to be able to work from anywhere, and they pay me well," she said. "I'm paid the same whether I'm writing a new article or redoing an old one for the seventh time. But they also pile new work on me without considering the fact that I'm still doing this. Anyway, I don't want to talk about work."

"Let's talk about something else. Where are you from originally?"

"Carbondale, Illinois," she said. "But my mom grew up in Nashville. She and her parents came to the Smokies every year for vacation. That's why they bought this place. I'd never been here before."

"I'd never been to the Smokies at all before moving here. I'm from the Florida panhandle."

"From beaches to mountains," she said. "You know how to pick a home."

"Well, I spent most of my adult years in the military," I said. "That had me moving from one place to another pretty often."

Was it my imagination, or was she looking at me differently now? I saw more admiration in her eyes than I'd seen before. It made me want to say more to keep that respect.

"Did you have to go overseas?" she asked. "Like in combat?"

I shook my head. "Mostly special ops."

I was a SEAL, but I didn't really want to get into all that. People thought what we did was glamorous, like something out of an action movie. It was anything but. And the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my scars—physical or emotional.

"There are a lot of military guys here in Rosewood Ridge," she said. "I've noticed that. I mostly stay to myself, but when I go to town, it seems like it's all women around my age and ex-military guys."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. "There does seem to be an epidemic of that in Rosewood Ridge. Right after the tornado, a bunch of them came to town looking for Jax."

"The Cyclone Stud." Simone laughed. "I heard about him. I haven't met him, though. Supposedly, he's super-hot."

Jealousy shot through me, and I had to get it in check. Jax was taken. One of those women who'd come to town had won him over. Still, I couldn't help this feeling that I wanted her for myself.

"My dad would throw a fit if he knew I was here with a military guy," she said. Leaning forward, she set her half-eaten slice of pizza on the coffee table and picked up the half-full glass of wine. "And this is the first alcoholic drink I've ever had. I poured it before I made dinner, but I couldn't bring myself to drink it."

All other thoughts came to a halt as I processed what she'd said. "You never had an alcoholic beverage until tonight?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "My father is adamantly opposed. You won't find even a can of beer in his house. His brother was an alcoholic. I guess he's afraid it runs in the family, but I don't think it's a problem. I don't really like the taste. I'm having to make myself drink it."

"Plenty of alcoholic drinks taste good," I said. "But there's nothing wrong with being sober."

"He doesn't believe in sex before marriage, either. At least for me, anyway. My brother was always allowed to do whatever he wanted."

I smiled. "Ahh, so, you snuck around?"

I liked the idea of her being a rulebreaker. A rebel. I wanted to help her break all the rules.

She shook her head. "I was a good girl. Still am. Well, until tonight."

She lifted the wineglass slightly as if in a toast and took a hefty sip. Then she winced as the liquid hit her taste buds.

I had to be misunderstanding. "You've done other things, I assume, just not the drinking thing?"

She set the wineglass on the table, but she didn't move to pick up her plate again. Instead, she sat back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared ahead thoughtfully.

"I'm not one of those everything-but girls," she said. "I don't believe in bending the rules like that. Kissing is all?—"

She stopped speaking midsentence and lowered her gaze to her lap. Suddenly, all I could think about was kissing her. And how I didn't want anyone to have touched those lips before me, which was ridiculous. But it was a feeling that I couldn't control.

"I think it's time, though."

She said those words and looked up at me. I'd been staring off to the side, imagining what it might be like to pull her toward me and give her the kiss of her life. But now, our gazes met, and I felt the stirrings of an erection.

"What do you mean?" I asked, afraid to misinterpret her words.

"I've had my first and second glass of wine. I've nearly burned down my dad's cabin. And now I want to find out what I've been missing in other areas."

"Like?" I asked.

"Like getting naked and doing it with you right here on this couch. Are you in?"